nodded. “Correct on both counts, Mr. Castillo. You’re aboard a cruise ship. Lucky for you, the captain’s a good friend of mine. The doctor said you’re ready to be moved to a land hospital. Right now, we’re about fifty miles west of San Diego.”
Jordan gave a slight nod. In spite of his physical and mental disorientation, he’d been right. What was that old saying of his father’s?
“You can take a Castillo out of the ocean, but you can’t take the ocean out of a Castillo. Don’t you forget it. It’s in your head, your heart, your very blood.”
She was asking him something. “Do you remember what happened to you?”
“Oh, yeah. Three men. They threw me off the pier.”
The woman nodded.
“And you rescued me.”
“Yes.”
“And then…” His eyes narrowed.
“Then?” she prompted.
“I think I blacked out.” Fatigued, he felt his eyelids drift closed. Abruptly he opened them, unwilling to see her leave. “Are you Ms. Collins?”
She tilted her head, hair glistening at the motion. “Yep. Ordinarily I don’t like being stood up, but in this case, you had a good excuse.”
“We were supposed to meet…at the pier and talk business. You’re a salvager, too.”
“Treasure-hunter, if you will.” Her eyes twinkled. “Of course, I’ve never pulled anything quite like you from the deep before.”
Jordan tried to smile, but couldn’t. The pain hit him again in nauseating waves, along with an overpowering weakness. He didn’t think he could stay awake much longer, but he had questions he desperately wanted answered.
“Your name,” he demanded, pain lending his voice a sharp edge. “Tell me your full name.”
“It’s Aurora Borealis Collins. Do excuse my typically Californian parents and their so-called creativity. They’re accountants now, but they were hippies in their younger days. I usually go by Rory.”
“Rory…” He liked Aurora better.
His eyes started to close despite his best efforts. “I didn’t think the ocean really had mermaids. Or guardian angels.” He sensed rather than saw her amusement.
“No one I know has ever called me angelic.”
The amusement faded when his eyelids fluttered closed. Dammit, I will not pass out.
“Don’t try to talk anymore, Mr. Castillo. The helicopter will be here soon. I’ll be in touch—later.”
“Jordan. My name’s Jordan.”
“Please just rest…Jordan.”
He made one last attempt to open his eyes again, and succeeded. “Not until I’ve thanked you. You saved my life. I owe you.”
“I know. I intend to hold you to that.”
The hairs on the back of Jordan’s neck prickled. Something in her voice sounded as strong as the ocean currents, as immovable as the tides.
“How?” he asked, angry at her vagueness, even angrier at his own weakness.
“Later,” she repeated. “When you’re well.”
She lifted her hand from his shoulder and ran it over his fevered forehead. Her touch was light, soft, cool as an ocean breeze, but sick though he was, Jordan refused to be distracted.
“What’s your price?” Despite the pounding in his head, Jordan shook off her hand. “Tell me.”
He was totally unprepared for her next words.
“The San Rafael.”
Jordan scowled at the mention of the Spanish treasure galleon. His Spanish galleon. “What about her?”
“You’ve been searching for the wreck.”
“Anyone can search. What you need is patience and luck,” he said vaguely, well aware that he hadn’t answered her question—and unwilling to tell her the truth: that he had the patience, but not the luck.
“Ah, but I have both. And I’ve found her. That’s why I wanted a meeting with you. To discuss terms.”
Jordan felt both shock and dismay. The San Rafael was his prize, not anyone else’s. “You couldn’t have.”
“I’ve found her,” the woman repeated, her voice firm.
“No. I would’ve heard about it. I’m her rightful heir, the last of—”
“The Castillos, the Philippines-based Spanish family who built and owned the San Rafael in the early 1800s.”
“How the hell did you learn that?” Jordan asked hoarsely. Ordinarily he would never have let himself be drawn out so easily.
“I know a lot about you, Mr. Castillo.”
“Then you know she’s mine.”
The woman smiled. “Only if you can find her. Which I have.”
Hot anger made Jordan’s already pounding head hurt even more. Could this be true? Could she really have found the San Rafael? The ship held more than just the possibility of treasure. A decade ago, a killer hurricane had widowed all the Castillo wives and left the Castillo children fatherless. Which made the last surviving Castillo male—himself—responsible for their welfare. That Spanish treasure galleon meant the difference between his family’s future and their eventual destruction. It meant enough money to ensure educations for his nieces and nephews. And it meant a resurgence of pride in their family’s name, their family’s history.
How dare this woman claim it as hers?
“I was hoping to interest you in a partnership.”
“Never. The San Rafael is Castillo property, and I’m a Castillo.”
She had the audacity to shrug. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. International salvage laws are basically the same today as they were centuries ago. The courts say if I find it, I keep it.”
“The San Rafael is my property.” Suddenly the sheets and the rails of his bed seemed too confining. Jordan struggled to sit up and failed. “You’ll never claim her,” he gasped, falling back against the pillows.
“You’re wrong. I already have.” She suddenly held a gold coin before his eyes. Not a coin, he saw upon closer inspection, but a gold medallion stamped with a crest—the Castillo family crest. Every salvager’s instinct he possessed cried it was no forgery.
“Where did you get that?” he whispered.
“From the San Rafael, of course.” She flipped
